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Finding Sabrina

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10

I found another peep, another alter … and I am scared.

She’s a problem, and her name is Sabrina.

I’ve been aware of Sabrina’s behaviors before now, but it occurred to me this weekend that everything I’ve observed makes up an alter. I always thought I was just crazy in another form. Now at least I know what form of crazy I am.

While sitting during an acoustic jazz concert I became aware that she was trying to tell me her name. I should probably stop going to concerts because I find that I dissociate or switch during them. I’ve no idea why, and it’s vexing because I enjoy live music.

It became a battle between Beatriz and Sabrina.

I won in the end, but I lost time afterwards, then fell asleep. But at least I didn’t do what Sabrina wanted. I’ll just say it would have been a backwards step, a slip, a let-down.

Sabrina wanted Jack, but Jack is my friend. We managed to get home without disastrous moves.

I’m exhausted from the experience.

To Michael

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English: Broken Heart symbol

Dear Michael,

I miss you, still miss you though it’s been over a year since we parted ways. Honestly, I wish you were out of my mind forever. It would make it easier to get through life. But the truth is that you’re in my mind a lot, more than I would like. I know that we went our separate ways because of my PTSD, and that fact makes me mad at myself. I keep thinking that if I had just been better, less apt to start shaking that we would still be together. You might be confused with all of this since I’m the one that walked away ,but I knew you were freaked out by the PTSD. I knew it was untenable.

You were special, a rarity of a person that does not come around everyday. When I’m really missing you badly I reach down into my soul, and find that part of me that felt your deep love for me. Just thinking of it right now makes me cry. I don’t just cry because I miss you, I cry because no one ever loved me that deeply, and it still amazes me. I wish I had been aware the that last time I kissed you or hugged you would be the last time forever. I would have lingered longer, treasured it more, paid more attention to the entire moment. I would have made sure to inhale your scent one last time so that I could try to bottle it up in my memory bank forever.

I vividly remember one night when we were together and you started telling me how special I was, and you asked me to promise that I would always remember that I’m special. You started saying, “Promise me, promise me …” I then noticed that you were teary as you were imploring me to remember that I’m special. When I look back I wonder if that was the last night we spent together, but my brain fails me, and I’m not sure if it was.

Cooking with you was fun, so fun that it did not feel like work when we did it together. We were so good at cooking together it was like choreography. We were magic when we cooked, no doubt about it. You were a great cook, and I was a fab baker, a perfect match. Every time I hear Michael Jackson on the radio I remember rocking out to those silly songs while we were making dinner one night.

I’ve never spoken to someone about myself like I did with you. It’s because of you that I write again. You helped me rediscover my love of writing, and I treasure that you helped me remember that I love writing. I was able to be myself with you, and I love you for that.

We were close to having a forever love together, so close that it might have been better for my heart if we had been nowhere near such a thing.

I suppose it’s still good that we met, even though I miss you terribly. I write again because of you, and I see myself in a different, better light because of you. Still though, I try not to let my mind embrace the fact that I will likely never see you again.My mind shuts down when I think of this, so I just let it float, float into the vast lake of the unknown with a droplet of hope that will likely never be.

Yours always,

Beatriz

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A first look … and I didn’t like it

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This past Monday during a session with Doc I had the experience of a 5 year old version of me making an appearance. I tried writing about it afterwards, but the post was too hard for me to finish. I started writing the post as present-day Beatriz, then, before I knew it, I noticed that the 5 year old version of me took over the post. I had already been scared by the session, and having that happen in the blog post scared me even more.

Finally I just put my laptop under the couch because I couldn’t bear it anymore, the evidence of my DID was too much for me. Then, I don’t know why, I started feeling like I shouldn’t live, and I started having paranoid thoughts of homelessness. I’ve no idea why all that happened after the session. I had even had a a string of good days prior to Monday, but it seems like after that session I was a mess.

Thankfully I had the sense to call my friend Dan while I was in that state of despair. He stayed on the phone with me, got me to take a Xanax while I was on the phone with him, and then stayed on the line with me until I was in bed ready to fall asleep. He wanted me to come over and stay at his place, but it was late, and I didn’t want to pack my crap. Plus, I don’t think I was fit to drive, and I didn’t want him coming over here to get me at such a late hour.

I’m finally feeling better, BUT I have another session with Doc tomorrow, not to imply that Doc is the issue. I just start to wonder if it’s really okay to let the peeps out in therapy. We shall see. I can only wonder who, if anyone, will appear tomorrow in Doc’s office.